


Birthday

by ununpentium



Series: Hamish Watson-Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununpentium/pseuds/ununpentium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Hamish's third birthday, but Sherlock isn't there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hamish](https://archiveofourown.org/works/329656) by [Valeria2067](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067). 
  * Inspired by [Hamish](https://archiveofourown.org/works/329656) by [Valeria2067](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067). 



> The Hamish Watson-Holmes series is a series of vignettes inspired by Valeria2067's Hamish. They are written as my muse inspires me, and may or may not eventually follow a bigger story arc.

John was busy putting the finishing touches to the lounge when Hamish barrelled in. “Balloons!” he exclaimed, pointing a chubby finger towards the balloons John was holding.

John smiled, “Yes Hal, balloons indeed! You know what today is?” Hamish screwed up his face in concentration.

“My b’fday!” His silver eyes lit up as he broke into a wide smile.

“That’s right, you’re three years old today! My grown up boy.”

“Where Da?” Hamish looked around for Sherlock. John’s expression deflated slightly.

“He’s at work, Hal. You remember what Da’s job is?”

Hamish blinked a few times and scooted up onto the sofa, pulling himself up by his arms and then climbing up the rest of the way. His mop of brown curls reminded John so much of Sherlock.

“He’s a… dective.”

“Detective,” John corrected, “and he’s really good at his job and a lot of people depend on him. That’s why he’ll be a little late to your party today, but he really wants to be here, Hal.” John put the balloons down onto the coffee table and sat on the sofa next to Hamish, pulling him onto his lap and pressing his nose into his son’s hair.

“I miss Da.”

“I know Hal,” John said softly, placing a kiss top the top of Hamish’s head, “so do I.”

—-

Three hours later and 221b was full of sticky, chocolate filled and now rather sleepy children. Parents of Hamish’s nursery school friends were starting to leave one by one with their thoroughly tired out children, shaking John’s hand goodbye and saying how sorry they were to have missed Sherlock. John stood at the door handing out the party bags with Hamish clinging on to his legs, waving goodbye.

Soon it was just John and Hamish again.

“M’sleepy,” Hamish mumbled. John scooped him up and carried him upstairs.

“Nap time for you, my birthday boy. I think three hours of running around and shouting has tired you out. Maybe I should get Sherlock to try that next time he says he can’t sleep. On second thoughts, he does do that at Scotland Yard.”

John laid Hamish onto his bed and tucked him in. Hamish curled up onto his side and fell asleep almost instantly.

——

John was attempting to clear away the worst of the aftermath from the party when he heard the front door bang open and some heavy footfalls on the stairs. John immediately tensed up as the door to 221b opened and Sherlock fell through, landing with a thud onto the floor.

“Sherlock!” John ran over to where Sherlock lay, immediately pressing his fingers to Sherlock’s neck to check his pulse. Strong, but erratic. Sherlock moaned and attempted to push himself up from the floor. His hair fell away from his face and John could see Sherlock’s face was caked in blood.

“Fu- Sherlock, we need to get you to hospital. What happened?” Sherlock grasped for John, found his hands and gripped them tightly.

“John. John, John. I thought I might not-“ Sherlock’s voice cracked and he looked away, blinking back tears. John ran his fingers gently through Sherlock’s hair, being mindful of the large gash to Sherlock’s forehead.

Suddenly there was a shout from the doorway. John turned around to see Hamish standing there, teddy bear hanging loosely from one of his hands, the other covering his mouth as he looked wide eyed at Sherlock. Then he burst into tears, standing rigidly in the doorway, teddy bear forgotten and holding his hands up towards John. John looked between Hamish and Sherlock, unsure of who to attend to first. Sherlock pushed John towards Hamish and stood up gingerly before limping into the kitchen to find the first aid kit.

John rushed over to Hamish and drew him in for a hug.

“Shh,” he soothed, “Hal it’s okay. It’s only Da. It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Hamish’s body shook in John’s arms as he sobbed, sucking in shaking gasps of breath.

“B-b-ut he is b-bleeding,” Hamish cried, “he s-scared me.” A tear fell from John’s eye, running down his cheek and falling to the floor.

“He’ll be okay, Hal, I promise. Daddy’s a doctor, remember? Doctors fix people when they get hurt. Da’s hurt but soon he’ll be fixed again.” John pulled his mobile phone out from his pocked and dialled 999 whilst keeping hold of Hamish with his other arm.

—-

Sherlock was lying in the hospital bed, scowling any time the nurses attempted to carry out their observations.

“This is completely unnecessary. John, do something.” John smiled apologetically at the nurse who was currently hovering by Sherlock, trying to take some blood.

“No, Sherlock. You’re going to stay there until Dr Collins says you’re fit to go home, and you will not make life even harder for the nurses.”

“But J-“

“No. You’re staying put, and that’s that.”

Sherlock huffed and closed his eyes. Once the nurse had drawn blood, checked his temperature and adjusted his drip and left, Sherlock opened his eyes again and looked at John.

“John I- When I got attacked by-“ Sherlock looked up towards the ceiling in frustration. John simply squeezed Sherlock’s hand tighter.

“It’s okay, Sherlock.”

“No, it’s bloody not okay. I thought they were going to kill me. I was lying on the pavement in the cold and all I could think about was that I never got to say goodbye to you and Hamish, that I hadn’t told you I loved you this morning, that Hamish hadn’t shown me his drawing yet.” Sherlock blinked back the tears and took a shuddering breath. “Both of you are my entire world and I don’t tell you enough. I can’t keep doing this.”

John stood up and carefully joined Sherlock on his hospital bed, fitting himself neatly next to his husband. He didn’t know what to say to make it better, wasn’t sure if he could, so instead he took hold of Sherlock’s hand and placed it over his own heart, hoping Sherlock would recognise that his heart simply beat “Sher-lock, Sher-lock, Sher-lock.”

—-

Two days later and Sherlock was allowed home. John helped him up the stairs and into the flat, where Mrs Hudson was waiting with Hamish, who looked warily at Sherlock.

“D’you fix him, Daddy?”

John smiled softly.

“Yes, Hal. Da is fixed. You want to go say hello? Be careful.” Hamish wobbled over to Sherlock and grasped at his legs before looking up to Sherlock and raising his arms. Sherlock bent down slowly, picked Hamish up and held him against his side.

“Hello Hamish.” Sherlock said sincerely. Hamish reached out to put a hand on Sherlock’s head, where the bandage covering his healing wound was. Hamish touched it softly.

“Ouch?”

“Yes, I got hurt.”

Hamish’s face crumpled as he remembered seeing Sherlock lying on the floor, blood dripping down his face.

“But I am all better now. See? All fine.” Hamish regarded Sherlock with eyes that were exactly the same haunting colour as Sherlock’s, and Sherlock felt as if he were being deduced. Hamish promptly grinned and buried his head against Sherlock’s neck as Sherlock rubbed circles against his back. He looked up towards John and motioned him over with his free hand. John approached his husband and his son, and put his arms around both of them. The three of them stood there, silently, for a long time.


End file.
